Happy Gotcha Day, Sandra Dee!

Not to be Captain Doom, but if you'd have asked me a year ago if I'd be making this post, I'd have told you definitely NO.  You see.. what had happened was.. Teh FL Greyhound Wife found an Irish Wolfhound on Craigslist and then The Sighthound Underground picked her up... and I was subsequently trying to manage my mental breakdown because the semester was so close to ending and graduation was so close I could SMELL IT and seeing the intake videos of this dog absolutely shattered my heart. 

I figured she was in such rough shape that she wasn't going to live much longer.  3 weeks? 6 weeks? 3 months? 6 months, MAX!  She was 30 pounds under weight, her back feet knuckled and dragged, she was 7.5 years old AND a giant breed, the ONLY thing I wanted to do (besides fucking graduate already) was to give this old lady a soft landing for the rest of her, obviously minimal, days. 

You know what Teh German did NOT want to do?  Let me bring home ANOTHER dog.  And a dog with special needs who I was literally bringing to our house to DIE?  Oh he was NOT into that.  He knows how attached he gets and he was (is?) still not over losing Teh BaggyPants, I mean, it was a completely fair and understandable argument to NOT bring home a 3rd dog into our "2 dog house"... and still I begged and actually CRIED about giving this dog a hospice home.  I knew with school ending I'd have time to devote to her care.  I knew she would break my heart in the end, but isn't that what it ALWAYS means to love a dog? 

Finally, Teh German relented and I made a stealth trip to DC during full blown quarantine time to pick up Sandra Dee. You guys.  I did NOT fucking know what I was getting myself into.  Senior dog rescue-ers will tell you straight up that seniors will defy your expectations, but I didn't KNOW, KNOW. First off, Sandra THRIVED with us.  I expected to give her a soft landing and manage her pain and let her live out her days in whatever ways she wanted and have to make the call within a few weeks to let her go.  

What this Floofs wanted was to RUN and frolic and eat from your plate please, but do not diss her by expecting her to eat THAT kibble or THAT chicken or so many various other things that were placed into her bowl as a sacrifice/trade for her to just fucking eat already (we now always have "Sandy cheese" in the fridge). This sassy lady keeps us on our toes.  She LOVES to be out and about, even with her droopy booty.  Her fancy "boots" (Timo's socks with duct tape over the toes so she doesn't scuff her nails/knuckles to the point of bleeding when she drags her feet) gave her a new lease on life.  She prefers to RUN everywhere, which usually results in me being dragged along at a full-sprint to keep up with her, which is wildly hilarious and equally horrifying because I could die at any moment. 

She does NOT trust strangers but she is curious about them.  Teh Bestie is probably her favorite person, but I'm going to pretend it's actually me, but I see the way Sandra reacts when her Other Mama comes over.  Sandra quickly won Teh German over with her goofiness and her desire to play and just LIVE and her obvious lack of interest in dying.  And when she sat on his lap?  He was a goner.  Her Backup Mom still enjoys it when I send her smut of Sandra running in the yard with Pax and Meri or roughing around with Pax or participating in a "family talk" or just being generally adorable. 

As for me?  I've been smitten since I saw her wobbly booty 1 year and a week ago (her rescue-aversary).  My heart broke open and I just knew in my soul that we could provide Sandra with what she deserved, for as long as she'd let us.  Each time she gives me kisses it makes up for all the frustration I've had when she refuses to eat for absolutely no reason.  When I see her galloping in the yard with the other 2 hoodlums, my heart grows 3 sizes because I NEVER expected her to be well enough to consistently PLAY with the other dogs.  And when she joins in on the family sing-alongs?  Be still my motherfuckin' heart.  

This lady let us be her pack and every day I'm so honored and relieved to get to spend another day with her.

Sandra Dee,
You have taught me that I have more patience than I thought I had (parenting at it's finest?).  You taught me that broke parts are for overcoming and working around in whatever ways you can.  You have taught me to be even more grateful for every single day, because I thought I'd only get maybe 3 months with you, 6 if I was lucky...  You have defied so many expectations and I know you DNGAF about anyone's expectations, which is what makes you so fabulous.  

I know we joke that you're going to outlive Pax and Meri, but if that actually happened, I would be ok with that (disclaimer, they aren't allowed to die #sorrynotsorry)... but like I told you on our ride to SC, as soon as you give me the sign that you are ready, I'll make sure that the necessary arrangements are made.  No sweet old lady should suffer and even if it breaks my heart, I'll make sure the end is the celebration you deserve.

I break my own heart thinking about days without you because I want to feel gratitude from my toes to my soul for each day with you.  You tolerated 4 meals a day until we got you up to weight and now you actually have muscle definition (wuttt) and you don't knuckle or sway like you used to and we do the stairs 2x a day and call it PT and you absolutely LOVE going on walks in the park/getting out of the house.  I sometimes wonder about your previous family and I hope that we are able to provide you with even more love and comfort than they did (until they didn't, fuckers).  I wonder if you miss them and hope that my snuggles and butt scritches bring you comfort during those times.  

I promise bully sticks and bedtime snacks and eye booger removal services and obnoxious Mahm love for perpetuity.  You are my bestest, floofiest, tiniest Wuffy-Wuffs and I love you unconditionally.

Seasons Greetings

Are you ever in one of those situations where you're the outsider and you want to be part of the group but you're definitely not part of the group so you still want to support the group and you're trying to find ways to be supportive?  Obviously that was super vague so let's have story time.

I was at the gym before class started and talking to the coaches.  We have a new member who doesn't speak English but they come with someone else who translates for them, but the coaches want this individual to be able to come to any class without the assistance of a translator, so they reached out to ask for some common phrases in the language this individual speaks so they can attempt to communicate with this person, even if it's mispronouncing the words and pointing to a piece of paper with the actual word written on it.  

Did I mention my gym is awesome?
It is.
They are also injury supportive, which is hella convenient for me, as you'd expect.

So anyways, there was a discussion about when Ramadan was ending and I don't bring my phone into the gym so I couldn't Google it during the discussion.  Then there was the question, "What do you say to someone who celebrates Ramadan?  Like Happy Ramadan but obviously not that."  I couldn't remember, but I knew Eid Mubarak and Eid Al-Something and I suggested she google that as well.  She found it, there's one for when Ramadan begins and one when Ramadan ends, and then said, "But is it appropriate to wish someone a "Happy Ramadan" if you're not Muslim?"  

I didn't even think twice about my answer.
Why wouldn't it be?

My answer was so immediate and it wasn't until later that I had some self-reflection where I questioned why I wasn't better about this.  It's no different than a Jewish or Islamic follower wishing a Christian/white person (because we all know Christmas isn't just for Christians) Merry Christmas since so many people celebrate Christmas compared to Hanukkah or Ramadan or any other non-Christian religious celebrations there are.  I've seen several friends on FB who are NOT Jewish or Islamic post things celebrating holidays they themselves do NOT celebrate, but they obviously know people that do.  I've always found it heartwarming to know that I have friends who are supporters of other cultures and religions, but this situation made me question why I wasn't more vocal about supporting these celebrations.

Now let me clarify, I specifically mean, supporting these celebrations IN AMERICA, where the white people are.  I struggle mightily with the fact that America was founded in search of religious freedom and yet.. so many people do NOT support religious freedom of others, WHEN IT IS DIFFERENT FROM THEIR OWN.

I am not talking about how zealots become terrorists and blow up religious sanctuaries in the Middle East.  I am talking about when zealots become terrorist and blow up religious sanctuaries IN AMERICA.  I'm talking about how much intolerance Americans practice towards people of other cultures who celebrate different than they do.  How their religious celebrations aren't as sacred as our own.

I mean, fuck yall, Ramadan is A MONTH of fasting during the time that the sun up as a way of honoring God.  I know Catholics have Lent where some people give something up or perform an act as a way of honoring God, but are they fasting ALL.DAY.LONG for A MONTH?  Absolutely not.  Ramadan is a hard time for those that practice and those people SHOULD be celebrated.  If it's as small as saying, "Eid Mubarak!" to someone, why is it so difficult?

Is it because it shows that we appreciate someone else's culture? 
Is it because we think accepting someone else's culture is an erosion of our OWN culture? 
Why is it so hard for us to celebrate others?
And that doesn't just apply to their religious celebrations, but also their accomplishments and struggles...
Why is it so hard for ME to celebrate others?
In what ways am I intolerant of others and how can I fix that?
How can I BE BETTER?

As always...
How can I be better?

For the record, there are NO reasons for me to wear my abaya and that makes me SUPER sad.

The (Lazy) Eye

Two things, real quick.

1- I am a grown ass adult and I got shampoo in my eye this morning.  WTF is that shit?  Fun fact, it still burns just like when I was a kid.  Additionally, dat Herbal Essences burns WAY more than No-Tears Lavender by Johnson&Johnson.

2- I have a lazy eye.  Usually by 7pm, this eye is more tired than the rest of my body and then I look like Count Adhemar and if you don't know who Count Adhemar is, Ima need you to go watch A Knight's Tale (RIP Heath Ledger) and report back.  I think this LITERALLY every time my eye is being lazy.  Every.single.time.  

This is Count Adhemar if you live under a rock/have never seen A Knight's Tale.

Immediate Expert

I have never pretended that I was a master coder.  In fact, mostly I just flounder around with coding until I am so overly frustrated at not succeeding that I just give up and walk away until I have to come back to it.  Then I flounder more until some unsuspecting soul takes pity on me and ends up fixing all my fucked up code and then it magically works and we're all happy (please see: School Spouse's role in my life during Fall 2019 and my former coworker who enjoyed doing my Assembly homework assignments for me and then also getting pissed of at PITA Professor's horribly subjective grading policies).

So anyways, last week, I was doing a screenshare with one of my coworkers to learn something new (which happens frequently) and he has been working on a rather large project.  This guy knows all sorts of things and I go to him for so many things.  

So anyways, during our screenshare, I noticed that he had a tab open that said, "Java while loop".

This guy writes all sort of code things.
He had to Google a while loop for whatever he working on.
I have to Google things like that all the time when I'm trying to write code. 

Honestly, it made me feel like I'm not as much of a dumbass as I tell myself I am. If the professional/expert still has to sometimes Google things he's working on, it's not such a bad thing if I, the beginner, need to find assistance.

I didn't mention it to him.
I mention it here because it felt like a RELIEF in my head.  Like cutting myself the tiniest bit of slack.  I mean, I still referred to myself as a dumbass (negative self-talk), but I accepted that if someone experienced needs to Google something to complete a task, I should not be so frustrated with myself for not just fucking knowing how to do something, despite having NEVER done it before.  EVER.

What kind of Megan fuckary logic is that?
I should just KNOW how to do something I've never done before.

This doesn't just apply to Work Megan.  
It applies to Gym Megan.
And Spouse Megan.
And Dog Mom Megan.
And Homeowner Megan.
And ME Megan.
All Teh Megans.

And I'm writing it here so I can see it and read it and KNOW IT.

It is not a sign of weakness to ask for help.
It is NOT a sign of weakness to NEED help.

Everyone starts somewhere.

Be it on Stack Overflow or doing box step-ups instead of box jumps.

Starting and stopping over and over is better than never starting anything for fear of failure.

Except for starting double unders.
Fuck double unders.

Are you talking about me?

One of my very poignant memories of the time when my relationship with my mother was deteriorating was of me and someone sitting in a room having a discussion and my mom walked in and demanded, "Are you talking about me!?  I KNOW you're talking about me.  I'm here now, just say it to my face."

We had, in fact, NOT been talking about her, but when the person and I looked at each other like, WTF is happening and then back at Mom, who just stormed back out of the room, we definitely talked about it after she left.  Probably something like, "WTF just happened?" and then back to whatever it was that you talk about with a teenager (me).  I'm not sure if it was Teh Granny, Teh Sister, Teh HS BFF, or Ex-Fiance (whose physical presence in Mom's house was limited to about 3 months before he got into a disagreement with my Mom and she told him to leave and never come back (he only came as far as the driveway to pick me up if there was a particular reason I couldn't just drive myself to his house) because, "he disrespected me in my house" after she picked a fight with him that neither he nor I could ever comprehend).  In fact, this paranoia always bothered me.  

And recently.. I've been seeing it in myself.
There are few things that make me #selfrage more than embodying traits that I hate the absolute most.

What had happened was...
There was a discussion recently that someone hates me and I hadn't realize this individual felt this way.  Now, back in the day, IDGAF about someone hating me or disliking me or not preferring me.  I am, sometimes, very much, A LOT... or so I've been told.  And I didn't care that I had haters.  But recently, as the list of haters grows (my group of haters has almost more people than Phil's "fan" Club of people he'd peed on), my anxiety spiraled...  And like my anxiety tends to be, it was so fucking unnecessary.  

If Person1 hates me does that mean Person2 hates me too?
Why does Person1 even hate me?
Why do I care that Person1 hates me?
If I'm so obnoxious that Person1 hates me, does that mean ThisPerson or ThisPerson are barely tolerating me too?
If I'm so horrible, does that mean Teh German tolerates me?
Did this random change of plans occur because I was involved and someone else wanted to avoid me?

It's well-known that I escalate quickly, but even I knew that this spiral was illogical.  I admitted the situation to Teh Bestie who talked me down and reasoned with me about why would I care about Person1 hating me when they have plenty of traits that are unappealing, to the point that Person1 isn't actually someone I prefer to be around anyways, so why was I putting myself through this spiral?

I must have just needed someone else to talk some sense into me, since my own talking-down wasn't very effective.  I was able to move on from wondering WHY.. and then I had a different actualization.  This paranoia, it seemed familiar, and not in a good way... in a "Are you talking about me?  I know you're talking about me." way.  I was making things that were not about me in any way, about me.  I was causing myself undue drama.  I was making things apply to me, even if it was reach and things obviously had nothing to do with me (i.e. random change of plans).

When did I become this hyper-critical person who can't cheer on others and only tear them down (in my mind, not like out loud, because that would be definitely crossing the line).  When did I become this person that cares that someone trivial doesn't like me?  When I did I become the person who equated some asshole not liking me to my husband not liking me?  Is this an age thing?  Is this a learned behavior?  

And this hyper-critical-ness is not just bitchy Megan being twatty but funny at the same time (this Megan only gets shared with certain people who realize that sometimes I just need to offload this snark and that I'm not actually a completely horrible person who believes these asshole things I say).  This is my thoughts about someone who is super fit doing super hard things and me tearing them down in my head about what a show-off they are.  They aren't actually a show-off, it's part of the workout and the rest of us just can't do what this person can and they shouldn't do things they are capable of to reassure the rest of us who can't do the hard thing that they can do.  But I have to have this entire thought process in the middle of a workout because I'm struggling, so obviously I need to lash out.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?  
How is this ok?
Why can't I STOP comparing myself with everyone else?
Why can't I just accept that some people are better at things than I am?
I don't struggle to accept that I'm better at some things than other people, so why wouldn't the opposite apply?
Why can't I always genuinely cheer on someone doing their hard thing?  Why must I automatically think, "But this, this, and this.. and I do it this way."

I literally hate people who do this.. and I'M NOW THE PERSON I HATE.

I just want to be better.

Whose Fucking Rules Are These?

I force myself to do a LOT of things.  I tell myself it's because that's just what you, those are the rules, that's how it's done.  But yall... WHO FUCKING CAME UP WITH THESE FUCKING RULES?  

Also, why am I so unbelievably strict on myself regarding the following of arbitrary rules? 

Literally NO ONE is forcing me to follow these rules but myself, but I will TORTURE myself trying to adhere to them as strictly as possible... but WHHYYY??  I cannot comprehend this.  

For instance.  The Morning Pages thing.  Writing 3 pages.  Doing them before your realize you have morning breath still.  Not reading them.  Are these ACTUAL rules?  Why do I have to follow THESE "rules"?  What happens if I only write two pages instead of three?  

Spoiler alert: NOTHING HAPPENS.  NOTHING!  No one dies.  No one is even slightly inconvenienced.  In fact, I actually benefit because I get MORE of my morning back!  WUT!?  

Why is three pages even the magic number?  What happens at 3 pages that can't happen at 1.5 or 2 pages?  Asking for a friend.  

For instance #2.  Recipes.  Ok, I'm a little less strict on this than I used to be.  But I'd follow a recipe to the motherfucking T because that's what it says to do.  Yall, I don't like spicy food, but recipes I'd find would call for a mountain of chili powder and cumin.  I'd add it and my GERD would be like, how do you like me now bitch?  You enjoying those spices you know this weak ass meat sack can't handle?  No?  Well, STOP IT THEN.  

Spoiler alter: Listening to my body is something I'm not very good at.  Please see any workout that is actually too hard for me, but I insist on doing it, through the pain and tears, to the detriment of my meat sack (body) AND mind AND spirit.  I don't listen to my mind, telling me, hey this hurts you should stop.  My body is just being tortured, and my spirit is crushed when I ultimately don't listen to my body and I'm broken/sore for days.  On the other hand, my spirit is crushed because my body sucks, but that's what we're working on.

So I'm trying to make an effort to remind myself, those aren't MY rules.  I will explore the rules and, if necessary, make my own fucking rules.  I will rewrite the script because sometimes, it doesn't work for me and I shouldn't need to punish/torture myself to follow someone else's plan.  

As Glennon taught me, I can do hard things.
Even if that hard this is as simple as saying, NO.  That does not work for me.  That way is not MY way.

Hugging

I was reading Buy Yourself the Fucking Lilies (or maybe it was Love Warrior?) either way, the author was talking about how people NEED physical touch.  Despite how un-touchy your family may have been when you were child, if you were always hugged and touched and petted or if your family was not huggers or touchers, human beings are animals that thrive when touched.

Touch is a form of intimacy.

Teh German and I have touch rituals... but upon reading that, I realized that Teh German and I barely touched... like ever.  A pre-sleepy-time peck on the lips if Teh German comes to bed before I fall asleep, a quick peck before one of us leaves to go anywhere, maybe a quick peck after a workout, a pre-work peck.. but that was it.  I thought back and realized this had changed when Teh German started working from home.  Things started shifting when I was staying home all the time.  I wasn't getting out of bed with Teh German and we weren't heading out to face the day at the same time.  When we'd leave the house at the same time, we always said goodbye with a hug.  We'd say hello when we'd come in from work/whatever with a quick kiss, and since we were going to bed at the same time, a pre-sleepy-time peck.  

So really, the hug was the main difference.... and yall, it was a HUGE difference.  

So last week, I started implementing hugging again.  Purposeful hugging.  I was even straight up with Teh German about it.  I also made sure to start it as awkwardly as possible, like I do.  He finally came downstairs for dinner one evening and moved in to give me the standard prescribed kiss and I ignored him and finished whatever dinner preparations I was doing and I could feel him start to get frustrated, but he could see I was doing something and I told him, "hang on," so he did.  

Then I turned to him and said, "No, we're hugging now.  We used to hug every day and now we don't and I miss it and now we're hugging."  And so we did.  He admitted that he missed it too.  So now, we're going to be hugging (and kissing) before work and after work and whenever else.  Sometimes, you just need a hug.

Additionally, I'm hoping that more physical touch helps the intimacy levels in our relationship, which at best can be described as "cool".  For now, more hugging. 

Is she back?

Based on my last 2 posts, one might thing, AWW YEAH, MEGAN IS BACK!!  But I'm not sure, to be honest.

When I stopped blogging in October, it was a relief in a way.  My life was an absolute shit storm: house selling, packing, moving, new job.  Blogging was another self-imposed requirement I'd put on myself and it wasn't serving me in the ways I needed it to.  And while many of those things have resolved, that still left me dealing with the shit storm that was ME.  My anxiety and my rage and my less appealing Megan-isms that cause me to struggle more than succeed... and it was time to work on some of that.

I've done a LOT of self-reflection and reading of self-actualization/help type of books.  Motivational women who seem to have gotten their shit together and that motivates me to get MY shit together.  I've known for quite a while that I don't always deal with things in the best ways and that mayyyybbbee I should get some therapy.  When a doc mentioned therapy the first time (back in 2017 when I asked for anxiety meds for my current life crisis (full-time work, full-time school, wedding planning, adjusting to new community/house)), I literally couldn't fit it in... and that's exactly how life continued for 3 more years.  In 2019 when I mentioned to my VA doc, "Maybe I should start therapy to deal with all this crap?"  She said, "That's not a bad idea."  Then we discussed it some and realized that trying to fit therapy into an already overly full schedule was NOT a good idea so it was put on the shelf to explore at a later time.

After surviving packing our entire house myself (let's call a spade, a spade, and give credit where credit is due, shall we?  yes, this is a rare occasion, someone please mark it somewhere), the house sell from hell, living in a temporary situation that would have been ideal under different circumstances (i.e. no spouses), buying a new house, and accepting that all of this change was MY FAULT but I was struggling to accept some things, it was time to deal with my shit.  I got set up with a VA doc in MD and, in addition to getting my hot flashes medication refilled AND filled by the VA (so no longer having to pay $$ each month for the meds), I asked to be set up with a therapist.  

That said, while I was relieved to not be blogging, I missed it.  SO MUCH.  I didn't have this outlet for all my shit.  I will share my ugly on FB, but I don't EXPLAIN my ugly on FB.  In this space, I explore the ugly.  I detail out all the tidbits that create the entire situation because this space is MINE and I do what I wawnt.  I missed sharing the silly shit that I said/thought.  I missed sharing the memes/internet things that made me laugh or touched me in my dark spaces.  

But I didn't miss the unknown audience.  I didn't miss the known audience and having to censor myself.  I didn't miss Teh German saying, "Just go bitch about it on your blog," when he'd piss me off beyond my overly tolerant limit.  (BTW, he realized the benefit to my blogging when we had to redo his green card photo requirements, so HA.)

It's a double-edged sword living the "transparent" life, I guess.

A few weeks ago, I got the itch to start doing Morning Pages (MP) again.  I did these during a class in college and didn't hate it, other than the getting up early part and that has been the biggest deterrent to doing them now.  I'm tired, yall.  So tired.  MP are essentially 3 hand written pages in a private journal that you write in each morning immediately after waking up.  No one should read them, even the writer, unless you've got some million dollar idea.  The purpose is essentially to clean the slate each day, to see your patterns and deal with your shit.  While I do need to deal with my shit, my itching was to WRITE to WRITE, not to clean the slate.  I'm fine with a messy slate, but in the 6 months that I've not used this space, I felt the pull to come back and share.

So I am going to share.  I'm going to share the ugly.  I'm going to share the dirty process of dealing with myself and my shit and my problems and hopefully the solutions.  Also, getting up 30 minutes early just isn't something I can currently force myself to do.  I force myself to do a LOT of things (that's another post for another day), but sleep is one of the things that doesn't usually go well for me, so interrupting it when is IS going well is not high on my list of things to do.  So maybe I won't do Morning Pages, but maybe I will start sharing my shitty-shit here.  

So don't expect this to be Weekend Reviews and Five on Fridays and Wednesday Rants or whatever the schedule used to be.  Expect this to be raw and not full of pictures.  Expect this to be what is weighing on my heart.  Expect this to be ugly and maybe sometimes spectacular.  I can't say that I don't want to share dog photos or funny memes, but I'm trying to focus on ME now.  Check my insta for the dogs and scroll through the internet for memes.  

Double Unders

When we'd been in the MD house for a month, I started to get itchy to meet people.  We NEEDED to meet people.  I mean, it took us a few months to get pulled into Roux's Humom's embrace when we moved into our SC house and it took over 6 months for us to even meet Teh PT Fam (thanks Hurricane Michael or whichever hurricane it was).  We aren't very good at making ourselves a part of a community unless we are forced, so I decided it was time to force us to find a community.

Something Teh German and I both enjoy (as much as I bitch about it) is working out.  I found 2 gyms within 10ish minutes of MD house and told Teh German to choose.  One was a crossfit gym, which we've done before, and the other was a Soliderfit gym that was so hardcore Army themed that I was having heart palpitations even giving Teh German the option of that gym.  Thankfully, he picked the crossfit gym.

Fast forward a month and a half to this morning.
Well, wait.  Let's back up to 2015 first.

In crossfit there's this STUPID thing called double unders.  If you do not know this, don't fret, because I didn't know either.  It's jumping rope, but extreme jump rope.  Essentially, the double part is that the rope goes around your airborne body TWICE per SINGLE jump.  Now look.  This isn't your elementary school PE class jumping rope.  There's no bossy little girls standing at the end of a long rope while you jump in the center until you miss one time and then it's someone else's turn to jump/turn the rope.  No, no.  This is fuck you jump rope.  And it's not the fun clacky plastic tube jump ropes, it's a whip covered in rubbery plastic or some shit that feels EXACTLY like when my mom used to whip me with the hickory switch I had to go to the woods and pick out myself.  

In 2015/2016, I did crossfit for a few months before we moved from Shitty House.  Ya know what ya girl can't do?  Jump.  Know what that means?  I can't do double unders.  So, the coaches say, just do singles, like regular jump rope.  So that's what I do.  And then that fucking rope would catch my shin or my calf or get caught in my fucking hair and ALL THE GODDAMN RAGE WOULD ERUPT FROM MY BODY LIKE AN EXPLODING VOLCANO.  There would be rage noises and it took me throwing a jump rope and almost hitting someone (and maybe almost getting kicked out of the gym, oops) before I realized something 2 things: 1- I might have anger issues.  2- You should not throw things when you are mad.  

I felt pretty confident about admitting #1 and maybe trying to work on it, but #2 I still can't always abide by.  

So here was my solution: no more double unders.  Problem solved.  Do not put yourself in situation where you know you are only going to get frustrated and angry.  Just don't.  This isn't quitting, this is understanding your limits and setting your boundaries.  This is healthy.

Ok, so now that we've had that story time, fast forward to this morning.  Double unders were on the menu and I was very clear about the fact that I'd be doing burpees or literally ANYTHING that wasn't double unders and the coach literally ignored me.  She explained to me that the goal was to work on the skill so I could ultimately DO double unders.  I explained that I have a rage problem when the jump ropes hits me in the legs or gets tangled up in me.  She said, then do singles.  I said, no really, I have a rage problem.  This is not how I want to start my Friday, being whipped in the legs with a hickory switch jump rope.  She told me to go get a jump rope.  I knew what was about to happen.  This was not a Megan can pretend to be cool situation.  I was not cool in this situation.  Not even close.

So the workout starts and we get to the part with the double unders and I'm trying to do singles and the fucking rope whips my legs and I feeeeeellll that rage.  I start again.  Another whip.  I take deep breaths.  Start over.  Rope gets caught on my fucking hair.  I stop, I breathe, I right the urge to sling the fucking jump rope against the wall.  Don't throw things in rage, Megan.  Try again.  It's just fucking jump rope.  You used to do this as a kid without problems.  Start again... get whipped in the legs and the fucking rope is out of my hands before I know what is happening.  Coach comes over and says not to throw things (yeah, I know, but I did warn you) and let's try a training option.  I consider this the "literally anything but double unders" alternative that I knew I needed from the start.  But then she added, we'll try with the rope towards the final rounds.  

Ya'll, I could barely get the fucking substitution move right.  It's called penguin claps and I'm only telling you this because we need a laugh at this point in the story.  Essentially, you jump and tap your hands on your thighs twice while you are airborne to simulate the rope going under you.  I do not stay airborne long enough to fucking penguin clap on my legs twice.  I'm clapping my legs while standing on the fucking floor because jumping is not my thing.  Shit, I can barely do step ups (a substitution for box jumps) without almost busting my face because my legs DO NOT properly lift sometimes and my foot will drag and trip me.  This is not me being funny, these are FACTS.  So anyways.  I'm shitty at the substitution and she can see that I'm frustrated with it all... and so she comes over towards the last rounds and hands me the jump rope to do singles.  

It's going well enough and then I whip my legs and I close my eyes and grip the rope handles like I'm going to fucking crush those motherfuckers and brreeeeattthheeeeeeeeeeeee.  I start again.  Rope gets caught in my hair again.  Coach says, maybe you need a longer rope and fetches it for me (I had originally picked the rope she'd told me to grab, just FYI).  I finished that bit doing the penguin claps that infuriated me because I was tired and couldn't fucking clap my gd hands against my legs once before hitting the ground I was so tired by this point and I'm overrrrwheeelmmmeeeddddd.  When it was time to do the next exercise, I laid on the floor and couldn't complete the movement (hollow rocks) because I couldn't breathe.  I was teary and couldn't breathe.  I had to sit up just so I could take breath.  I didn't want to fucking cry because of a fucking jump rope, I had to get it under control, but I could.not.breathe.  

I laid back and heaved some breathes hoping that I could control this.  But also, WTF is wrong me with?  Why is jump rope making me cry?  Is this PMS?  WTF is happening right now?  Is this is a panic/anxiety attack?  Is this just a temper tantrum meltdown?  What the fucking fuck is happening to me?

After a few seconds, I managed to catch my breath and refused to let myself cry.  I dried my teary eyes and popped out my hollow rocks and trudged on.. and then we were back at that fucking jump rope again.  I tried to take the singles slow.  Jump high and hold your elbow in, the coach had said, so I tried that.  And then.. I HAD TO PEE.  Queen of the Weak Bladder here, in addition to whipping myself, now I had to not piss on myself.  I whipped myself no less than 3 times and finally said said fuck this, I have to pee now because I'll pee on myself trying to do other exercises if I don't go.  

So I did that and was late starting the next round.  I caught up... and finally the last gd round of double unders was upon me.  Jumping high without a shitty half-full bladder made only a slight bit of difference, but not enough to not get whipped and that was enough for me.  I have no idea if I completed the allotted number of jumps, but I was drained physically and emotionally by that point.  

This is unusual for me, because I am that weird person that gets a 2nd wind and I'll be dancing to the music during the rest periods to encourage myself and keep myself moving.  Also, the music was WAY TO FUCKING LOUD.  I was already struggling but the music was SO LOUD that it was only grating on my already frayed nerves.  But when you're already the whiney asshole it's hard to be even more whiney and be like, could we turn it down about 5 decibels please?

We moved on to the 2nd part of the workout (because a 32 minute EMOM was not sufficient) and I modified the "skull crusher" movement and when the coach came to me and said, you should have the bar over your forehead, I said, "Look, I'm a head injury kid.  I will not be accidentally dropping this barbell on my face today.  I've already whipped myself with a jump rope, but I call it at dropping something on my head."  She finally accepted my modification and let me be.  We finished the rest of the workout and I cleaned up my station and tried to be cool, but on the inside, I was so very, very uncool.

I was embarrassed that I had thrown the rope (same as in 2016).
I was mad at myself that I can't do double unders.
I was mad at myself that I can barely do singles.
I was mad that my bladder fucking sucks and couldn't handle jumping for 45 seconds x4-5 rounds without threating my attire.
I was mad that I even touched a jump rope, because I knew I was setting myself up for emotional overload/failure.
I was mad that, that coach has seen me teary TWICE now (the first time was over legitimate back pain because of wall-balls in a similar situation except I don't refuse to do wall-balls).
I was embarrassed that I had a meltdown/panic/anxiety attack at the gym (who the fuck gets so fucking invested at the gym that they get upset to the point of tears/having a meltdown/attack? I mean, seriously).
I was concerned that I didn't even know what a panic/anxiety attack looked like.  Was I just having a meltdown or was that a legitimate "attack" of some sort?  Why doesn't the Anxiety Queen know that?
Why was I so upset that I was upset?
Was this PMS?  How does someone who is so hormonally controlled have fucking PMS? (for real, I'm on a daily pill for those hot flashes with no break, so I should have consistent levels, mkay.)
Why couldn't the coach accept my limitation?
Why couldn't I accept that the coach was trying to HELP ME BE BETTER?
Why couldn't I get past the whipping of my legs?  Yes, it stings, but it's not the end of the world.
Why did every time I whipped my legs with the jump rope did I flash back to when I was 10 or so, having to bring my mom a switch from a tree to beat me with?  
Was I just reaching for an excuse not to do something I'm not good at?
Was this accurate self-reflection?
Why was I still in this spiral?  How could I break the spiral and move on?
Why can't my body do the things I demand of it?  
Why is my body so weak?  (Side note: I did handstand holds against the wall the day before and I was the only one in the class who could even get up to the wall without assistance.  I couldn't do the push-up part, but I did 30 second holds, so I knew this was a ridiculous question.)
Why was this so absolutely devastating for me?

I still don't know the answers to some of those questions.  I don't know why I give myself the shortest stick, always.  It is exhausting.  This journey is exhausting.  I know this isn't healthy though and I'm trying to be/get better and that is also exhausting.